It came from the Sticks!
by Kaysin-12
Summary: Limburger has employed a variety of villains, to dispose of the Bros, over the years but all have failed miserably. After hearing an old Earth saying, fishlips decides to try a more rural approach. Can the boys survive a dose of homegrown country evil?


Rated K+, which by 's defination means sutable for mature children over the age of nine.I did this for possible cultural offense. Even though there's little chance of a truly hardcore redneck being able to read this, it might offend protective relatives of such people so I thought I'd cover my tracks. Also there are two words in here that may be considered inappropriate by some, even true swear words by others, so I apologize in advance just in case someone is offended by the use of 'damnation' and the term 'high class broad'.

Disclaimer: Still don't own the bros, Charlie, Limburger (who would want to?), et all of the cannon people/places/things that appear in this fictitious work of fan affection. I also don't own A&W root beer (if I did the one in my home town would have never closed), Coca Cola (even though I am very fond of that liquid cavity waiting to happen), or the television channel known as Comedy Central. Any and all thinly veiled references made to other cartoons were done with purely comedic purposes intended. I do own the "villain of the week", Hayden Karbunkle, though.

Dedicated to a brilliant writer, my dear friend and pen pal, inuficcrzy! (go read all her stuff, seriously, you'll love it!) A conversation with whom, inspired this piece of literary insanity. Enjoy!

"Well that was easy!" Vinnie laughed, as he and his three best friends sped away from the site of their latest victory.

Modo smiled "Yeah, knocked around the usual circus of goons,"

"Rescued a High school full of innocent kids," Charlie added.

"Defeated a ten story tall gecko that sweat super glue," Vinnie reminded them.

"All in a days work." Throttle grinned "Who's up for lunch? My treat." There were no objections.

"I simply cannot comprehend it." Karbunkle wheezed "How could they possibly have defeated my Adhesive-saurus?" he clutched at his massive cranium, leaving faint trails of blood as he clawed his own flesh in frustration.

"Duh, maybe that glue solvent factory weren't the best place where at ambush them meices Doc." Greasepit offered, earning a glare from the distraught sadomasochist.

"Karbunkle!"

"Oh drat." a visit from the high muckity-muck was the last thing he needed.

The fake philanthropist excited his white limousine; clad in his trademark royal purple business suit, adjusted his tie and made straight for the spindly scientist, who was still hunched in the ruble of his latest humiliation.

"Ut-oh." Greasepit gulped "This ain't good."

Karbunkle sighed and grumbled "Remarkable. Everything you have said today has been correct, for once, and yet… YOU'RE STILL NOT HELPING!"

"Do not holler at the poor boy Benjamin," Limburger glowered "I have it on good authority that the blame is entirely on your shoulders this time."

"How do you know that Boss?" the massive lackey blinked.

"I am so pleased you asked, my dripping dope. I took the liberty of having the moronic mutant, Fred, place a transmitter on that large rodent's bike when we captured it a few days ago." (see author's notes) He pulled a small square device from his blazer pocket. It looked like a television remote with a small speaker on one end and a volume dial at the other. "While patiently waiting for my tower to be rebuilt, yet again," he growled to no one in particular "I have been eavesdropping on those three delinquent bikers to amuse myself and hopefully acquire some useful knowledge. Observe." he switched the portable device on with a white gloved hand.

"Man, if those losers get any dumber, they'll be defeating themselves for us." Vinnie howled and clunked his mug of A&W root beer together with Modo's.

"I think they've been in the business too long." smirked Throttle "Karbunkle's getting predictable and Limburger's in so much hack he can't afford decent freelancers anymore."

"Can't be much longer now bros." Modo belched happily and chugged his mug full in two gulps. He waved to their waitress. "Excuse me ma`am, can we get another round over here?"

"Or three?" Vinnie was so preoccupied, with trying to get a group of hot co-eds to come join them, that he didn't notice how throttle frowned peering into his wallet.

"It's okay fearless leader. I'll cover her tip." Charlene patted his arm.

Throttle smiled, pleasantly surprised "Thanks babe. You're a life saver."

"Lime flavored." she joked. Taking a ladylike swig of her Coca Cola (hey, a girl gets tired of root beer all the time) she laughed "You know, Limburger's rogue gallery reminds me of something my father used to say," she scrunched up her face and did her best Roger Davidson impersonation, much to her friend's amusement "If those rednecks had any brains they'd be dangerous."

"What in the world is a 'redneck'?" Limburger scowled.

"A guy on Comedy Central said it wuz a Glor…glaro…uh," Greasepit paused and put a finger to his temple, going crossed in concentration.

"A glorious lacking of sophistication." Karbunkle murmured impatiently.

"Yeah, dat's it. Thanks Doc." the stain-waiting-to-happen slapped his scrawny colleague on the back, knocking him 'head over teakettle' as the saying goes.

"Could you elaborate my dear demented physician?" his minions could feel there was already a seed of a scheme peculating in the fishes monstrous mind.

"A rube, a Country Bumpkin, a Hayseed." Limburger was obviously loosing his patience, so much for synonyms. "Basically an individual in which the proper mixture of poverty, inbreeding, and homemade whisky cultivates destructive tendencies of so amazing a magnitude that it simulates unfathomable evil genius."

"I see."

Karbunkle did not like how his employer was leering at no one in particular. He liked what Lawrence said next even less.

"So all one need do is to locate one of these, 'redneck' people who possesses a reasonable IQ."

Karbunkle bulked and began waving his gloved hands frantically. "Unfortunately, your Aged-to-perfectionness, such an individual is a natural impossibility. It defeats the definition you see."

Limburger raised a suspicious false eyebrow at him, "And how is it you are such an authority on the topic Karbunkle?"

"There's one in every family sir." he deadpanned.

The Plutarkian sub-boss's masked features took on a look that was reserved for his most vile and wicked plots. It was at that moment when Benjamin Karbunkle realized he had doomed himself beyond measure.

"One in every family you say? Including yours, dear Doctor?"

"Oh drat."

Three weeks later Limburger had finished his research, using the Plutarkian equivalent of a laptop, from his swanky hotel room. He had to buy the entire establishment in order to receive a room at all. Terran deodorants just weren't up to the mammoth task of suppressing Plutarkian stank in a Chicago summer. Which left him with just barely enough funds to pay off the construction workers when they finished his new tower. No matter, he had found what he was searching for and that alone was enough to brighten his mood.

Despite his pathetic protests, Karbunkle had easily cobbled together a decent facsimile of his old lab in what was once a speak-easy beneath the stately old building. Limburger loved it, as back-up command centers went this one was comfortable and reminiscent of the glorious gangster era that he admired so greatly. At present, the aquatic wanna-be Capone was standing with his minions in front of a transportation module, waiting for his latest hire to arrive.

"I still do not understand your logic sir." Karbunkle hemmed and hawed, wringing his gloved hands feverishly. Nearby, Fred was guffawing happily as a group of thugs rolled him into a ball and began practicing soccer plays with him in the spacious lab.

"Perhaps your overdeveloped mind is overly used to dealing with complex strategies Benjamin. It's all rather simple so do try to keep up as I explain it all again. Now, does genius run I your family?"

"Huh?" Karbunkle blinked.

"Just answer the question you sadistic surgeon." the fish-man hissed.

"Yes, nearly everyone in my family is exceedingly gifted in the intelligence department in one way or another. Even my little nephew Dexter, who recently…"

"And," Limburger interrupted before he could be subjected to his subordinates shameless bragging "you yourself have enlightened me that there is at least one of these 'redneck' persons in every family."

"An unfortunate fact of the human genome sir." the mad scientist grumbled miserably.

"Therefore, my melodramatic minion, it stands to reason that your family's resident rube will be the answer to my fiendish prayers."

Karbunkle's goggles nearly fell off his face as his eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. "No! You can't possible be serious."

Just then the teleported activated, saving Limburger from having to justify his actions.

"Hoooooowdeeeeeee!"

Karbunkle groaned, falling to his knees and looking heavenward. "Please," he wheezed "not even after my worst deeds, do I deserve a visit from…_him_. The Devil's getting off easy in comparison!"

"Well hush my mouth, cuz'n Benjy, iz that you?"

"Benjy?" the thugs chuckled to each other.

Ignoring them (though making mental notes of their faces for future 'volunteer' work) the Doctor reluctantly got to his feet and greeted his country counterpart. "Hello Hayden. I see your, colorful personality, survived our time apart."

"Woo doggies," the muscle bound hillbilly slapped his knee gleefully and guffawed loudly "You always did talk fancy cuz. Now what's this I hear bout Boss Fish needin' some good ol' fashioned sense around here?"

Limburger smiled like a shark. This was more than he had dared hope for. "That he does, my enthusiastic young fellow. Tell me, how are you at exterminating pests? I have a rather nasty and persistent infestation in my fair city, that I am quite anxious to be rid of."

"You may wish to refrain from terms with more than three syllables, your perfectly spreadable-ness. He confuses easily." Karbunkle whispered.

Their hick of a guest removed his beaten up baseball cap, revealing a ratty mullet of ginger hair that would make Randy Travis feel nostalgic to no end. Hayden scratched his scalp with fingers permanently stained with grease and dirt (and other substances that have been deemed unprintable by United States congress). "Welp, that depends 'pon the nature of the critters. We talkin' reptile, insect, possum, or rodent?"

"Rodent." Limburger made a face like the word had left a sour taste in his mouth.

"River rat, Mongoose, Woodchuck, Shrew, Squirrel, or Mouse?" Hayden's expression turned deadly serious "An I don't do sewer rats. Not since that family trip to New York. Damnation, that sucker was a biggin'. Stood yeh tall," he held his big hand five feet high "An it knew that there Ka-ra-tay stuff. Like in them Ninja pictures."

Greasepit, Fred, the thugs and Limburger all turned to Karbunkle with blank disbelief in their eyes. The slim scientist just sighed. "Worst family reunion _ever_."

"Truth be told it was all cuz'n Baxter's fault. Durn fool goes and gets himself trans-morgi-fied into a giant mayfly and acts like it ain't no big thing. Sits himself in the potato salad for most of the night and cuts out on us when them varmints, he made enemies of, show up. Huh, Granny's gone and cut him outta her will let me tell you! Ah well, more fer us when the ol' girl kicks it, eh Benjy?"

"Please refrain from using my hated childhood moniker Hayden."

"I'm surprised the Doc had a childhood." Thug number three snickered to Fred and Greasepit.

"Set your primitive mind at ease my boy." Limburger made a dismissive gesture with his right hand "The rodents in question are mice. Martian mice to be precise, and though they measure closer to seven feet in height, if you count the antennae, I assure you they know nothing of the martial arts."

Hayden shot him a suspicious look. "You sure? Absolutely thumpin' sure Boss?"

"They're bikers, given more to street and barroom brawl methods, you unfortunate nut off my family tree." Karbunkle huffed impatiently.

"Ah shoot," Hayden grinned, presenting to no ones surprise, a mouth with very few teeth remaining in it. Those that had managed to maintain residence were stained yellow from chewing tobacco and sticking haphazardly in receding gums. "I thought them varmints was extinct. Wahoo! I'm a gonna tell you what I'm a gonna do fer you King Crab. You don't gotta pay me, just let me keep them mieces' hides. My girl, Emmy-Lou, s'been harpin' on me to get her a fur coat. But she's been lookin' at them there Sears catalogs and thinks she's too good for possum now. No, now she's got the notion she's a real high class broad and wants somethin' rare, somethin' the other fillies back home can't get their paws on. I figure a coat made of alien hide aught a shut her up."

"Why does the poor girl has two first names?" Limburger muttered to his hunched minion.

"Compensation for having only one set of grandparents." the demoted Doctor's face was so totally taken over by dismal resignation that none of his compatriots could tell if he was joking.

**Author's Notes**: Limburger's comment is in reference to the events in the season one episode 'A Mouse and his Motorcycle'. In which Modo's bike, Lil' Hoss, is bike-napped by Limburger's team and held captive in Karbunkle's lair for a lengthy portion of the episode. I figured if the spy device was small enough, or perhaps disguised as a part of the bike, Charlie wouldn't have noticed it. Modo was too sick, after what happened to him in that episode, to give Lil' Hoss a check up personally, and since he trusts Charlie he wouldn't double check her work after he got better. It hasn't been long enough for him to do a repair job so even though he probably has ever inch of his bike memorized, he hasn't gone looking for anything wrong yet. That's my reasoning for the bros not knowing Limburger has them bugged at this point in the story.


End file.
